I tap the address into the screen, and we’re off as the car cruises silently, making my green heart pitter-patter.
I feel relieved. Not simply because of the orgasm—though that helps, undoubtedly. I mean, it’s been a while. But mostly because there’s a weird sort of relief in my honesty. Something raw and oddly intimate about those confessions. I’ve come close to getting it off my chest, but now it’s out there officially, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
But as he expertly darts through traffic, I wonder…what happens next? Were those fifteen minutes about convenience, lust, or something neither of us is ready to name? Namely, this crackling, sparking connection between us that I didn’t see coming the day we met. The more time I spend with Ford, the more we, well, crackle.
And combust.
Was that combustion a one-time thing?
Well, of course it was. We’re barely even fake dating. It’s like fake dating lite. Fake dating with fewer calories.
“That was…” I say, pointing back at my house.
“An orgasm, Skylar. An earth-shattering orgasm that rocked your world.”
I roll my eyes as I crack up. “Cocky much?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Nope.” Then I glance at my nails, weighing whether I want to continue my confessions. But why not? After the truths I served up, I can handle this one. “It’s been a while for me.”
“That so?”
“Well, not solo,” I explain. “I’m a big fan of those.”
He growls, a low, hungry sound that makes me feel in control again, and I love it. “Hot,” he says. “Just hot.”
“Thank you for your appreciation of my solo flights.” I pause. “But with someone else? It’s been…quite a while.”
At the light, he slows, then tosses me a dark look, his lips a straight line, his eyes glimmering. “Good.”
As he turns onto the next street, he adds, “Same for me. I haven’t been with anyone…in a long time. Since…my ex.”
It’s one of the few times he’s mentioned her. Every time he does, I realize we have more in common than I’d first thought—back when I assumed we had nothing.
Maybe that’s why the honesty bug takes over my vocal cords again. “Good. I’m glad too,” I say.
He just smiles.
“And I didn’t get to return the favor,” I add—and then,bam.It’s like my mouth handled the setup for the awkward question: Will this happen again? I draw in a fortifying breath. “That was…a one-time thing, right?”
He’s quiet for a block, his fingers curled tight around the wheel. The silence is thick and heavy with the weight of…decisions. Of consequences.
I want a good referral from his mother.
I want to honor my brother’s wishes.
And Ford wants to focus on his career. Understandably. He said as much when he ate mac and cheese on his front porch.
Sex is distracting. It fries brain cells.
“It probably should be, don’t you think?” he asks evenly, in a measured voice.
I blow out a breath. “Of course. Sex makes you stupid,” I say.
He laughs again. “Yes, I suppose it does. Fake dating is one thing. Sex is another.” He sighs, then furrows his brow. “But then again, is it sex when I fuck you with my fingers?”
A flush races up my chest to my neck—hell, to my ears. “That feels very semantic, Ford.”
